Flesh and Blood
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. They belong to J.K. Rowling OBE, Bloomsbury, Scholastic et al. Please don't sue.
AN. A monologue from Crouch sr.'s POV after he sends his son to Azkaban.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What have I done?
I have sent my only son, my own flesh and blood to the most terrible place imaginable. He will be in complete agony, all because of
me. I sent him to live out his years in torment, to see the most terrible things that have happened to him. I sent him to die, alone,
cold and insane in the dark.
Time after time, he will see me, his father, telling him he would be going to hell on Earth. He will see me, his father, denying his very
relationship to me. I denied my own son; what kind of man am I? How will I ever be able to look my wife in the eye again? I did this
to our son, our pride and joy. We loved our son and he loved us. I betrayed that love. I betrayed his trust. I, knowing full well what I
was saying and doing sent him to see me telling him again and again that I had no son. I sent him to hell, and much worse. I told him
he was a disgrace.
I am such a terrible man.
My son, my son, my son.
I will never see my son again. He will live out his life, after a fashion, undergoing torment in the dark. These are things that the Dark
Lord would do, how did I come to do them to so many people?
I am responsible for so many people going to Azkaban, and I never thought about what that actually meant, until my own son was
among them. I realised then what I had done, to so many people and their families. I had sent the people to rot in the dark,
tormented by the worst moments of their lives outside. I had sent a part of their relatives in with them to live out their lives in the
twilight.
I never realised what I was doing. I never realised the anguish, the heartache, the terrible torture of a relative in Azkaban. What is it
like for the inmates? I would hate to be there, it is enough knowing that I was the one to commit them to the hell they endure, but
to go there myself, I could not bear it. I would see my son's eyes, looking at me. Me, sending him to hell.
~
I still cannot bear to think about my son. A year ago I sent him to Azkaban, to the most horrendous place on Earth. He is lying there,
shouting and screaming in the dark. He sees me, telling him he will spend the rest of his life in this hell. He will die here and be buried
beside the barren rocks. He will be forever looking out through the bars, not knowing what he is seeing, until death releases him.
I have also killed my wife. She lies, feverish and depressed in her bed. She will talk to no one. She will not eat, she will not drink, she
cannot sleep. Her eyes are surrounded by dark bags, her face is thin and pale, and her eyes; her eyes are full of terrible saddness,
they are haunting if ever she will fix them on you. I will never forget the look in her eyes as long as I live.
I still pretend that I am happy, no one knows how I feel. I still seem the same person I was two years ago, but I feel much older; too
old.
My son ruined my life and my chances of promotion. But I sent him to hell, no one deserves that, not even the Dark Lord himself. I,
Barty Crouch, still mourn for my lost flesh and blood.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AN. God, that was depressing. Hopefully there will be more fics from me in about a week. If you want them earlier, they will arrive
on my site, http://nemosfics.homestead.com, about three days earlier. Please review.
Nemo 19/7/00
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. They belong to J.K. Rowling OBE, Bloomsbury, Scholastic et al. Please don't sue.
AN. A monologue from Crouch sr.'s POV after he sends his son to Azkaban.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What have I done?
I have sent my only son, my own flesh and blood to the most terrible place imaginable. He will be in complete agony, all because of
me. I sent him to live out his years in torment, to see the most terrible things that have happened to him. I sent him to die, alone,
cold and insane in the dark.
Time after time, he will see me, his father, telling him he would be going to hell on Earth. He will see me, his father, denying his very
relationship to me. I denied my own son; what kind of man am I? How will I ever be able to look my wife in the eye again? I did this
to our son, our pride and joy. We loved our son and he loved us. I betrayed that love. I betrayed his trust. I, knowing full well what I
was saying and doing sent him to see me telling him again and again that I had no son. I sent him to hell, and much worse. I told him
he was a disgrace.
I am such a terrible man.
My son, my son, my son.
I will never see my son again. He will live out his life, after a fashion, undergoing torment in the dark. These are things that the Dark
Lord would do, how did I come to do them to so many people?
I am responsible for so many people going to Azkaban, and I never thought about what that actually meant, until my own son was
among them. I realised then what I had done, to so many people and their families. I had sent the people to rot in the dark,
tormented by the worst moments of their lives outside. I had sent a part of their relatives in with them to live out their lives in the
twilight.
I never realised what I was doing. I never realised the anguish, the heartache, the terrible torture of a relative in Azkaban. What is it
like for the inmates? I would hate to be there, it is enough knowing that I was the one to commit them to the hell they endure, but
to go there myself, I could not bear it. I would see my son's eyes, looking at me. Me, sending him to hell.
~
I still cannot bear to think about my son. A year ago I sent him to Azkaban, to the most horrendous place on Earth. He is lying there,
shouting and screaming in the dark. He sees me, telling him he will spend the rest of his life in this hell. He will die here and be buried
beside the barren rocks. He will be forever looking out through the bars, not knowing what he is seeing, until death releases him.
I have also killed my wife. She lies, feverish and depressed in her bed. She will talk to no one. She will not eat, she will not drink, she
cannot sleep. Her eyes are surrounded by dark bags, her face is thin and pale, and her eyes; her eyes are full of terrible saddness,
they are haunting if ever she will fix them on you. I will never forget the look in her eyes as long as I live.
I still pretend that I am happy, no one knows how I feel. I still seem the same person I was two years ago, but I feel much older; too
old.
My son ruined my life and my chances of promotion. But I sent him to hell, no one deserves that, not even the Dark Lord himself. I,
Barty Crouch, still mourn for my lost flesh and blood.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AN. God, that was depressing. Hopefully there will be more fics from me in about a week. If you want them earlier, they will arrive
on my site, http://nemosfics.homestead.com, about three days earlier. Please review.
Nemo 19/7/00